“Jamie . . . Ah . . . Jamie, Jamie!”

He let her ride the waves, his body buzzing with a deep pleasure that had nothing to do with his own spent cock. Or maybe it did—he didn’t know. All he knew was a sense of satisfaction he’d never quite felt before. At having brought this woman—this woman—so much pleasure.

He couldn’t think about what it all meant right now as he sat up and cleaned his hands and face with the wipes in a basket next to the bed, then carefully wiped her clean. Getting up on his knees, he faced her, pressing his bare chest to her breasts, pressed harder until he could feel the plush cushion of them, her hard nipples. She let her head fall back as he kissed her throat, her lovely collarbones, her shoulders. Then finally her mouth. Pressing his lips against hers, he wanted to drink her in all over again. She was nearly limp, but she kissed him back, her mouth soft on his.

When he unclipped her wrist cuffs from the bed frame she sank onto the mattress with him. Shifting her onto her side, he curled behind her, spooning her, his arms around her, listening to her breathe. He refused to let his mind try to dissect what had happened tonight. Between them. In his head. It was getting too complicated and he wanted to enjoy the moment. The hour. The night.

*   *   *

THEY’D SLEPT FOR a while, although Summer wasn’t sure how long. Twenty minutes? Three hours? Did it matter?

All that really mattered was that she was there with Jamie, her body sore and worn out from play and sex—and God, the sex! The kink play aside, the sex was spectacular. Was it that she’d finally been able to give herself over to the submissive role with him? A part of her still held back, but she’d never let go before the way she had tonight. Was it the setting—being at The Bastille? Or was it simply the evolution of their connection?

Her body was still buzzing with orgasm . . . seemingly endless orgasms. The blood pumping through her veins seemed to be moving in time with the rhythmic thump thump of the music playing in the dungeon, driven by that orgasmic buzz. And if she really listened she could hear Jamie’s heartbeat—could almost feel it with his chest still pressed against her back.

Hers suddenly jackhammered for no apparent reason, a tear forming in her eye.

Ridiculous!

She wiped at the tear with her thumb.

“Hey, sugar.” His voice was a quiet, rasping murmur. “You’re awake.”

She bit her lip. “Kind of. Are you?”

“Kind of.” He gave her a squeeze and she realized he’d held her in his arms this whole time. “We had a good workout—we earned some rest.”

“What time do you think it is?” she asked, more to distract herself than because she really wanted to know. There was too much going on her head. Or in that space in her chest that had remained empty for too long.

Damn it.

“No idea. The Bastille is pretty much a place without time, and I didn’t wear my watch tonight.”

She loved the watch he usually wore—it had a wide, black leather band and a large square face edged in brushed steel. Utterly masculine. Utterly Dom-like.

“Why didn’t you wear it?” she asked idly, stroking the soft hair at his wrist.

“Mmm . . . too distracted by the idea of bringing you here tonight, I guess. You mess with my focus, woman.”

She laughed. “I think that’s a good thing.”

“You would.” He tickled her ribs, and she squealed, kicking.

“Hey!”

“Hey, yourself, sassy wench.”

“That’s right. And don’t you forget it.”

“Apparently being caned until you scream makes you bratty.”

“Nah. I’m always bratty.”

He chuckled against her hair. “True.” They were both quiet for a bit. Then he said, “Summer Grace—you know what I want to do tomorrow? I want to go to City Park and hang out at the lake and lounge around on those old, bent live oak trees. I want to drink some iced chicory coffee with too much sugar and have those amazing beignets at the coffee stand there like the tourists do.”

“They are some of the best beignets in the city. Fuck the tourists.”

“Oh no, you’re saving that for me, sugar.”

She was quiet, her heart hammering. “Am I, Jamie?”

“Yeah. You are if you want to, Summer Grace. I can’t make that demand of you, you know.”

She sat up, her heart tumbling in her chest, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. “Jamie, this has to be more than just the consent of kink. You have to tell me you want this. For us to be exclusive. I mean, I have been, but . . .”

“So have I. But yes, I want that. Damn right I do, sugar girl, who tastes sweeter than chicory coffee in the park.” He pulled her down and kissed her hard, then let her go. “You want to skip this place and hit Café Du Monde for some beignets? They’re not as good as City Park, but I think they may be the only place open this time of night—whatever the hell time it is.”

She laughed. “Now?”

“Yes, now. I’m starving and my girl wants beignets. Come on and let’s get you put together.”

She looked up at him as he unbuckled one of the cuffs and slid it from her wrist. “Jamie?”

“Hmm?”

She bit her lip, watching him closely. “Your girl.”

He shifted his focus to her face, let the leather cuff fall to the mattress and twined his fingers with hers, smiling in a way that made her heart melt like a hot pool between her breasts. “Yeah. All mine.”

CHAPTER

Nine

CAFÉ DU MONDE at four in the morning was like few other places on earth. Even in July, which was usually far too hot and damp for most of the tourists, it was full of the after-bar and after-dinner crowds, as well as the tourists who braved the heat of a Louisiana summer. People wore everything from formal evening wear to shorts and cheesy T-shirts. Jamie quickly spotted a corner table that looked out onto Decatur Street and Jackson Square on the other side of the boulevard, where a few of the horse-drawn carriages were parked, the horses and drivers napping in the pre-dawn heat. The air was damp and smelled like sugary-coffee heaven as he led Summer to the table and helped her into her seat, then sat down next to her, scooting his chair close enough that his long legs tangled with hers.

He leaned in and murmured against her cheek, “I will never smell beignets and chicory coffee again without it reminding me of you.”

She pushed against his shoulder. “Don’t be silly, Jamie. You’ve lived in New Orleans most of your life.”

“Yeah. But I’m here with you right now, and that’s all that counts.”

“You’re just high on kink and sex.”

He pulled her close and nuzzled her ear. “I’m high on you.”

It was everything she’d ever wanted to hear from him. She didn’t give a damn how corny it might sound to anyone else. She tried to ignore the tiny voice in her head that told her it was too good to be true.

The waiter interrupted them and Jamie pulled away to order their coffees and enough beignets for a small army while thunder rolled overhead. Rain began to spatter on the sugar-covered sidewalk outside the green and white striped awning that covered most of the café’s seating area, adding to the intimate ambience, making the café seem more like a haven. The fact that the place was crowded with wall-to-wall people didn’t even matter.

“So what do you say we get to know each other better?” Jamie asked.

Summer laughed. “We’ve known each other almost forever.”

“We have. But it’s like when you live someplace and you take certain things for granted, so you never really think about it on a conscious level. How many times have you passed historic homes in the Garden District without giving them a second thought beyond how beautiful the architecture is?”